


Project Aries

by Anonymous



Category: Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts (Cartoon)
Genre: # let kipo swear, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Kipo, Gun Violence, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, It is, Kipo Needs a Hug, No Romance, Post-Season/Series 01, a season 2 where kipo is alone on the surface, dad autocorrected to sad and honestly thats jamack too, i love how i was like 'oh this story isn't THAT dark' but then, is this an excuse to write badass kipo?????? yes, jamack is a dad but tries to deny it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:46:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23976208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Wolf has never feared Kipo, per se. Sure, the fact that Kipo could practically bend the world to her will scared her a little bit, but Kipo was too nice and too innocent to use it to hurt anybody.But when Kipo shows up to Scarlemagne’s palace with an army behind her and maniacal grin, Wolf thinks she miscalculated.(In which Kipo escapes Scarlemagne’s flamingos, but she lands on the surface instead of the burrow.)
Relationships: Benson & Wolf (Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts), Kipo Oak & Jamack, Kipo Oak & Lio Oak, Kipo Oak & Wolf
Comments: 16
Kudos: 120
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Canes Venatici

**Author's Note:**

> *hi
> 
> *ive been putting off writing this for too long lmao
> 
> *the season 2 trailer came out (accidentally) and so i immediately jumped to this fic bc sure i may never come back to it but i at least want to start before s2
> 
> *speaking of which kipo could literally knock me out with her cool stick thingys and i would say thank you
> 
> *also jamack had two seconds of screen time but they were the best two seconds of the whole trailer HE JOINS THE GROUP AND HELPS THEM SBHSJFBFNFNFNJSJD
> 
> *its a shame the trailer was released early tho, but i’m glad i got to see it b4 it got taken down
> 
> *i didn’t rly feel like editing so uhhhhhh oops
> 
> *n e ways here’s this

The march is peaceful, considering what they are there to do.

There’s a plethora of sounds in her ears, mixed volumes synergizing to create an orchestra of music. The Timbercats’ heavy stomps serve as the baseline, coinciding with a melody of slithers. Angry growls and baited teeth form a formidable chorus, and there’s backing vocals of synchronized footsteps.

It’s music to her ears.

Despite the itch on her cheek, Aries doesn’t reach up to scratch behind her mask. It’s medical brand, polished as though it had been dipped in wax. Her entire outfit is classy, sharp-cut and pristine ebony trenchcoat ending mid calf, open to reveal a spotless dress-shirt and straight tie. Tall, black boots come up almost to her knee, lined with purple laces. The buttons of her coat have been painted to match, magenta garnishes woven into every piece, violet trim adding a pop of color to the otherwise monochrome fit.

If not for her hair, she would look like a business manager. Pink locks are pulled back into a low ponytail, but the bangs are left free, wild, and spiky. Loose strands fall into her eyes, calm and relaxed, yet there’s a crazed fire behind them, as if a room behind a wall of glass is up in flames.

A black belt with magenta accents does not go unnoticed, not because of the belt itself, but because of the onyx sheaths, one ending mid-boot, the other in an “L” shape. If her eyes and pearly mask and chiseled suit and mused hair didn’t scream danger, the holsters did.

She looks like a wild animal barely restrained in a suit.

She _is_ a wild animal barely restrained in a suit.

Though, it’s more like barely restrained _by_ a suit.

She doesn’t plan on wearing the trenchcoat for long, after all.

“Are you ready?” Conduct asks, standing by her right. His suit is nowhere near as clean-cut as hers; in fact, it sports multiple tears in the fabric that were never repaired. A white mask covers the top half of his face, leaving only his mouth visible.

Brandishing a guitar in his hands and axe strapped to his back, Tenacity flanks her left. “We’re all set. We’ll wait for your orders, kid.”

Aries keeps her gaze forwards, overlooking the mossy terrain. There’s a forest of overgrown trees beyond them, and she knows Stride’s group is hidden there, along with Extremity, using the tall trees as cover. In front of that is a neon sign, bold lettering spelling out two words.

_‘Las Vistas.’_

But she’s more concerned with the person on _top_ of the sign, as well as the group below it.

She smiles, the only way to tell being the crinkle of her eyes. For a second, it’s as if they flash purple. Her words are low so only her team can hear them.

“I think it’s high time we greet Paragon.”

Paragon’s eyes glint dangerously from across the field. “Well, well, well.” He claps his hands together. “It appears we have some _quests_ joining us today.”

His playful demeanor drops, adopting a nocuous tone. “Uninvited.”

Aries steps forwards, eyes trained on Paragon with a glare deadly enough to rival his own. “It’s nice to meet you, Scarlemagne. Or, better yet, Hugo.”

Paragon— Scarlemagne now, widens his eyes. Quickly recovering and gesturing wide, he proclaims, “Scarlemagne to you. What brings you to the show?”

Aries glowers. “We both know what I’m here for.”

Scarlemagne laughs, throwing his head back. Aries tones down the poison in her stare. “I’ll ask for them once, and once only.” She mimics his earlier gesture, throwing her arms out wide and flashing a conniving grin; not that he can see it, but the effect is still there. “Give them back, and we avoid all of _this_.”

Wiping a tear from his eye, Scarlemagne looks back up at the army. “Oh, but what about my greatest creation? I’ve spent far too long working on it for it to go to waste.”

Aries doesn’t drop her arms, silently waiting for an answer. Scarlemagne motions to the crowd beneath him, admittedly a lot larger than Aries’ forces. “And I can’t abandon my people! Even if,” he glares at the legion behind her, “ _some_ of them abandoned me.”

The smirk that forms on his lips is dangerous, coy, and he gives a shit-eating grin. “I’ve been holding onto them for so long. I wouldn’t want _that_ project to fail too, now would I? They’ll make such nice... additions. Such nice _dancers_.”

She had been hoping that he would resign, giving up her people before she had to take measures. There was a small part of her, buried deep in the back of her mind, that is disappointed by this outcome.

But a larger part of her _isn’t_.

She reaches up to clasp the straps of her mask, calmly pulling it to the side, revealing a straight mouth if not for the upturned corners of her lips.

And then, Aries tilts her head, a sweet smile on her face.

“You want to dance?”

There’s the faint sound of a button being pressed.

Kipo _grins_.

“Then let’s _dance_.”

The hill behind her bursts into flames.

* * *

_One month ago..._

* * *

Going after her dad wasn’t an active choice, more like an instinct, her legs coded to move. She _really_ should’ve thought about it, and Wolf screams behind her, but for having mute-like abilities, her ears are strangely blocked. All noise is muted, and there’s a sort of vignette at the edges of her vision, the only thing in her line of sight being her dad, and he’s far away, they’re taking him _away_ when she just got him back—

But then there’s a pain in her shoulder, something digging into her arm. It doesn’t hurt one of them, and it’s easy to guess which arm is immune. She doesn’t have time to be glad that whatever grabbed her changed their grip because she’s too focused on something _grabbing her._

Her feet leave the ground, and suddenly Kipo is flying. The wind rushes past her ears, her eyes begin to water, and through her haze, she can see her dad in the flamingo’s clutches up ahead, Scarlemagne sat on top. There’s pastel pink around her, and she realizes she’s _also_ in the flamingo’s grasp.

Kipo supposes they aren’t taking her dad _away_ if they’re taking her with them.

Her dad is in front of her but too far away to shout to, even though she tries. Her voice is hoarse, her emotions scattered from relieved and ecstatic highs to terrified for her loved ones and of herself.

But her dad is still there, although he’s not _quite_ in reach, but Kipo counts on the comfort. She’s surprised she hasn’t cried yet. Maybe the surface has toughened her up a little?

It’s the most she’s been thrown before, and not in the literal sense. She’s been tossed around like a rag doll by creatures five times her size. What she means is her emotions are miles apart, and it’s a game of tug of war between them. Kipo and her friends used to play that game in the burrow.

Now the burrow is gone. Again.

And it’s all her fault.

Not entirely, she supposes; she didn’t know Scarlemagne was watching, but she should’ve guessed. Kipo’s strength has always come from her intelligence, and so maybe it was the emotional rollercoaster that made her forget all rationality. Regardless, she messed up her people’s second chance, their second clover, and the prospect of them being scared of her is less threatening than exile.

Not that there’s anything left to be exiled _from_.

Though it was going to play out this way no matter what, huh? Whether Jamack turned her in or let her go, she’d still end up in the same place: Scarlemagne’s hands.

And it’s the realization that sure, she may be dangling from flamingo claws, but it’s _Scarlemagne’s_ clutches she’s in.

That makes her feel a bit better about what she’s about to do.

She’s struggled and wiggled and squirmed, but finally, something _connects_ , and she’s swung to the side. She rams into another flamingo, twisting so the polished claws that hold her loosen. Kipo grips the leg of the creature grasping her, and she pitches herself up, finding a fistful of flamingo feathers. Hauling herself up, the claws are forced to open due to the weird angle, and there’s convenient reins around the flamingo’s neck. But there’s also an _inconvenient_ rider.

“Hey!” she shouts, her voice shrill and carried by the wind. “Can I borrow the reins?”

The rider doesn’t reply, not that she expects them to. She can see her dad out of the corner of her eye, _just_ out of reach, and Kipo makes a very not-Kipo move.

Her _dad_ is at stake, she reminds herself as she creeps behind the rider. Her _friends_ are at stake, she chides as she raises her arm. Her _home_ is at stake, and Kipo grips the shoulder of the rider and forces him to the side.

She wishes her mute-hearing muted the sounds of his screams as he falls to the ground, and she tries to convince herself distance is why his screams abruptly cut off.

She doesn’t have time to contemplate what was basically murder when the reins flap in the wind and the flamingo screeches. She hurriedly peeks ahead to see Scarlemagne hasn’t turned around, but her _dad_ _has_. They lock eyes, and Kipo makes another very not-Kipo move.

Her eyes narrow, and she sets her jaw. It’s not a comforting smile, it’s not a ‘I’m alright, worry about yourself.’ It’s a message that she is _coming_ for him, she is _going_ to save him, and she _doesn’t care_ what she has to do to do it.

The plan she creates within the next two seconds involve multiple options: steering the flamingo towards her dad and snatching him away, following subtly behind and discovering Scalemagne’s lair, or pushing Scarlemagne off his saddle. Whichever way she chooses, she’s _going_ to get her dad back, and Kipo has never been so sure of something in her life.

With determination in her veins and a goal in her bones, she yanks the reins, and the flamingo’s head turns forcefully. It throws Kipo off balance, and she nearly falls off the mute’s back, the ground too far away to see. She uses the reins to haul herself back into place; the flamingo squirms, and they’re thrown around in the air. Kipo’s arm is _heavy_ , and it only adds to the unbalance.

The flamingo doesn’t respond the way she wants it to. Kipo gets thrown off its back, and she barely manages to catch onto the reins. Her jaguar arm is the sole thing keeping her from flying away, and the flamingo flaps around, swinging Kipo from side to side, trying to shake her off. The other flamingos she kicked away are coming back to their senses, and they start to circle her, snapping their doubled beaks.

There’s nowhere for Kipo to go, and the threat of recapture is imminent.

But her dad is _right there_ , he’s _so close_ , and she can practically brush him with her fingertips. She vowed she would free him, promised herself, and she won’t fail him again. She _can’t_ fail him again. There’s so many people: her dad, her friends, her burrow, that are resting on her success. She has to free her dad, not just for her, but for the whole burrow.

Her eyes narrow, and she hears herself yell, and when she turns her head to glare at a flamingo, it coils back. When the others snap their beaks, Kipo shoots them a scowl, and they back away. If looks could kill, the flamingos and anyone within twenty feet of Kipo would easily be dead ten times over.

One of the flamingos is brave, swooping down and preparing to dive at her. Kipo isn’t having any of it. She sets her footing, and when it gets close enough, she punches as hard as she can, surging strength into her jaguar arm. Surprisingly, the flamingo goes _flying_ , stray feathers floating in the air. There’s another coming from behind, and Kipo repeats the move, sending the phenicopter screeching. She isn’t playing, and she squares her shoulders and stands tall to prove it.

But her flamingo must notice the others plummeting, because it abruptly spins in another direction, and Kipo is launched off the flamingo’s back. Her hands scramble for purchase, but her jaguar arm is wrapped in a fist from punching the flamingos, and she doesn’t have enough control to unravel her hand in time. There’s a scream torn from her throat, and she sees her dad turn his head back to look at her, his eyes widening, and Kipo reaches up as she falls.

No. No, no, _no_ , this wasn’t supposed to happen! She was supposed to save him! He was _right there_ , and he’s still _right there_ , right in her line of sight! She had the chance to grab him and go, but she didn’t take it, and now... now she doesn’t have a chance at _all_. Everything she’s done, everything she’s been through, it’s all thrown into the drain in a second. Days of progress getting to the burrow, days of sleepless nights, days of clinging to memories, days of running from danger at every turn, all down the drain. Jamack’s sacrifice. Wolf facing her tormentors. Benson and Dave choosing to stay. Mandu saving her life. None of it matters.

Her heart pounds, not because she’s freefalling, not because the ground is only seconds away, but because she can hear her dad scream her name, and tears spring to her eyes.

Kipo has failed him. Kipo has failed everyone.

And now she’s going to die.

She doesn’t want to look away from her dad; if she’s going to die, he’s the last thing she wants to see. But soon, he’s nothing more than a blob, and she twists in the air. Bright greens and yellows are below her, and for a second, she’s confused. Shouldn’t she be seeing rock from her burrow?

The burrow she _failed_. She _had_ to get her dad back, had to save her people. Wolf had watched her go after him, called out her name with terror in her voice. Benson and Dave had been fighting alongside her friends, and Kipo has _failed_ them. She had _one_ job, and she went and... _messed_ it all up!

Pathetic.

The ground rushes up to meet her, and Kipo tucks her arms close to herself, her jaguar arm too heavy to hold up, tears staining her cheeks.

* * *

Wolf has never _feared_ Kipo, per se. Sure, the fact that Kipo could practically bend the world to her will scared her a _little_ bit, but Kipo was too nice and too innocent to use it to hurt anybody. And sure, she was downright terrified when Kipo revealed her mute side, but that wasn’t because of Kipo _herself_ , just the part-mute bit.

Wolf wasn’t scared of Kipo when she emerged from a tunnel with an army of Timbercats, or when she realized how small Kipo was in comparison to the Mega-Monkey and how _easy_ it would be for the mute to send her flying into a wall. She wasn’t scared of her when Kipo kicked her staff into the air, or when Kipo unstrapped the snake’s guitar, or even when instead of ducking down or dodging, Kipo snapped out of a ill-timed disassociation to practically _triple_ the size of her arm.

Wolf has feared _for_ Kipo, sure. But she’s never _feared_ Kipo.

And she _definitely_ fears for her now.

She had been _right_ there, right next to her. They had almost been brushing shoulders. But suddenly, Kipo was running ahead and reaching up, ignoring Wolf’s cries, and Wolf could do nothing but watch as a flamingo dug it’s claw into her shoulder and began flying away.

Part of her berates herself in her mind, screaming that she could’ve done _something_ , she could’ve fought the flamingos; if she had rushed in, she could’ve gotten a few hits in with Stalky. But Wolf had just... just _stood there!_ While Kipo was taken away! By _Scarlemagne_!

_‘One of these days, it’ll be your end.’_

She didn’t expect it to end so _soon_. So _suddenly_.

Images of Kipo’s smile as she went on about anything and everything, her face lighting up as she ranted about the stars or her burrow or her dad, the trace of sadness and melancholy when thinking back on her burrow, all flash through her mind. She remembers how Kipo sat criss-cross on the ground, guitar in her lap, strumming a quiet tune before they fell asleep. How she shook Wolf’s shoulders, begging her to _‘let her braid her hair.’_ How she danced around as they walked through the surface, gazing at _everything_ like it was one of the seven wonders of the world and the most _amazing_ thing she had ever seen.

They were supposed to be students in a shared class, passing notes to each other and Benson, complaining about not understanding the material. They were supposed to roam around the city, artificial light to guide their steps. Kipo had mentioned a glow worm cave at some point, and Wolf, while not replying at the time, filed the information away for later when they inevitably got bored.

She wasn’t supposed to watch as Kipo locked eyes with her, wide and terrified, and Wolf did _nothing_ to stop it.

Distantly, she registers the metallic clank of her staff dropping and the feeling of her knees giving out, but she doesn’t care, being too busy staring at the shrinking flamingos in the sky. Mandu squeals, suddenly next to her and nudging her arm with an understanding comfort.

Emotionally, Wolf cannot bear to look at the flamingos anymore, and she drops her gaze to the floor. More and more images flood her mind : Kipo nearly dropping a plate of pancakes, Kipo flashing a thumbs up after the Mega-Monkey disappeared, Kipo laughing as she dragged Wolf to the Raccoons, Kipo desperately clinging to her dad as they accomplished their mission.

She was supposed to bring Kipo home safe. And she _did_ , that was certain, but she slacked off. She hadn’t been paying enough attention. Sure, she brought Kipo home safe, but she couldn’t _keep_ her safe at home.

And what makes her equally upset and angry is the fact that this would’ve happened anyways.

She... she _knew_ Jamack letting them go was too good to be true, but Kipo _trusted_ him! Kipo trusted that _jerk_ , and he threw her to the flamingos! He let them go free so they could lead Scarlemagne straight to the burrow. But if he hadn’t, the only other alternative was _Jerk_ -mack handing them over to Scarlemagne himself. They were always playing into Scarlemagne’s hands. This was always going to be the outcome. Wolf had been too blindsided to see it.

She wants to _scream_ , she wants to curl her hands into fists and punch something, she wants to punch Jamack, and she wants to cry all at the same time. She already _is_ crying, though, and she hates it because it’s ugly and wet and drips down her cheeks into her mouth and onto the ground. Silently, her shoulders shake, body raked in quiet sobs. She should’ve known. She should’ve _known_!

What is she supposed to do now? What are _they_ supposed to do now?

She feels pressure on her back, and Benson tentatively calls her name, likely surprised by the strength of the emotion she’s displaying. Wolf doesn’t have time to care. Every thought in her mind is of Kipo, Kipo, _Kipo_.

Kipo!

Wolf hesitated then. She won’t hesitate now.

She opens her eyes, narrows her brows, and reaches for the familiar weight of Stalky.

_(“Stalky?” Kipo asks, a knowing smirk on her face, and Wolf levels her with a glare.)_

Sure, she might not have a goddamn clue what she’s doing. Sure, there might still be tear tracks down her face. Sure, she might be rushing into something too dangerous for her to escape.

_(Wolf kicks at the air. “You can’t keep rushing into danger.”_

_Kipo glances up at the sky, timid smile on her face. “I know.”_

_But she continues to do it anyways.)_

What do they do now?

“We’re gonna find her,” Wolf declares, gritting her teeth. “No matter what.”

And that’s when she hears Kipo yell.

In a blur of pink, one of the flamingos goes _flying_ , stray feathers sailing through the air. Kipo punches another, sending it in the opposite direction. A rope is clasped tightly in Kipo’s hands, and she stands tall upon the flamingo’s back, enormous arm tensed for danger.

For a second, Wolf feels hope bloom in her chest.

Wolf has never feared Kipo. Not when she stood up to the Newton Wolves with an impressive amount of confidence, not when she devised a plan to trap the Mega-Bird, not when she flung the gang into the air via Pierre and casually talked about how great it was that Wolf was back at the same time.

Wolf has never feared Kipo.

But she thinks... maybe she _should_.

That doesn’t last long.

The flames of hope die out, and time seems to slow down. She can see it happen before it actually does, the flamingo Kipo is standing on jerking abruptly, Kipo losing her grip, taking one step too far back—

And then Kipo is midair, plummeting towards the ground, one moment there and one moment not.

Wolf thinks that _this_ is how it feels to have her heart shatter.

She can handle Kipo being captured, albeit barely. If she’s captured, it means she’s somewhere, and being somewhere means she’s traceable, and if she’s traceable then they can find her.

They can’t find her if she’s _dead_.

Benson bursts into sobs, screaming Kipo’s name. Dave, for once, is stunned into complete silence. Mandu’s eyes are blown wide, all movement ceased. Wolf drowns them out. Everything is blurry, and she barely registers falling back down again.

This is what drowning _has_ to feel like: the feeling of not enough oxygen, like something is squeezing her throat, limbs heavy and vision blurred. Wolf chokes on tears, hearing a cry torn from her throat. She bawls her hand into a fist and pounds it into the ground, pressing her head against the dirt and waiting for it to _stop_. Waiting for her to wake up from this stupid nightmare that’s gone on for too long. Waiting to find Kipo standing over her with a hand outstretched and making some snarky remark about sleeping in so late.

Wolf never wakes up. There’s nothing to wake up from.

Kipo is gone. It’s a cold reality, but one that settles into her bones in a way that makes Wolf more upset. Kipo is _gone_. No more blinding smiles. No more good-natured comments. No more warm hugs. No more _Kipo_.

God, she never realized how much she needs Kipo.

Frost gradually worms its way into her heart, and a familiar numbness sets over her, cutting off her sobs. All feeling is washed from her body, leaving her hollow, and she quickly fills that space with ice. She’s comfortably numb. Sure, it’s cold as hell, but she doesn’t feel... anything.

However, she was too busy coating her heart with a layer of frost to realize one of Scarlemagne’s dancers snuck up behind her, and she’s effectively silenced by a well aimed blow to her head.

As if it impaled itself in her chest, an overwhelming stab of _feeling_ strikes her.

For the first time, Wolf is genuinely _terrified_. _  
_

* * *

Twigs cut through her cheeks, threading themselves into her hair, and she slams into a tree and it crumples.

She continues falling after that, hitting branches that knock the wind out of her, being tossed from side to side like a rag doll. Twigs slice through her face and her clothes, musing her hair and making her head sting. Finally, she hits the ground, knocking the wind out of her and sending a ripple of pain through her body.

Her chest rises and falls with every pant, Kipo being perfectly content with lying in the grass for a while.

She’s alive. Somehow. If she could muster up the energy to raise a victory fist in the air, she would.

Eventually, she rolls over, straining her muscles and sending fire throughout her body. Every cut stings, every scrape itches, and Kipo distantly thinks she’s going to be bruised for _weeks_. There’s a nasty cut on her cheek, and she restrains herself from reaching up to touch it, coming to the conclusion that she shouldn’t potentially rub dirt in an open wound. Her thoughts are sluggish and far away, like she’s there, but a few steps behind. She’s moving and interacting and existing, but her mind is on a three second delay.

Logically, it’s probably due to pain, but Kipo muses over other ideas. It could be the fact that ten seconds ago, she had made peace with her death, or the drastic change from determination to nothingness. She wasn’t reacting emotionally at all, and for Kipo... that couldn’t be a good thing.

This _whole situation_ couldn’t be a good thing.

She blinks as liquid drains onto her eyelashes, not slick enough to be tears. It’s heavy and slow and oh, it’s blood, and she can feel a cut on her forehead throb in response. At least some part of her is responding.

Kipo’s eyes slowly dart around, lazily picking up on green and brown hues, sunlight streaming in patches on the ground. She doesn’t recognize this. Wasn’t she supposed to be back in her burrow?

_(Her_ dad _is at stake.)_

_(It’s not a comforting smile.)_

_(Wind whistles in her ears, and she’s falling, falling,_ falling _—)_

Grass under her fingertips. Gleaming sunlight. Brown hues forming tree trunks.

She’s on the surface.

_Alone_ on the surface.

Panic rises in her throat, and her chest starts to rise and fall quicker, each breath feeling like a knife is in her ribcage. She’s alone. On the surface. Heavily injured. She has no idea where she is or how close to her burrow she sits, no idea where to even go from here, no way to tell directions, nobody to direct her—

Kipo allows herself to forget about her dad’s swear jar. She thinks she deserves it.

“Fuck,” she whispers, and she digs her hands into her scalp and throws her head back as her voice rises to a shout. “ _Fuck_!”

Okay, she needs a plan. Her dad is probably long gone by now, and she failed him, failed her burrow, failed her people, and her dad is alone with Scarlemagne and her burrow is alone with flamingos and Wolf and Benson and Dave and Mandu are alone with each other—

“Stop it,” she berates quietly, knocking her palm into her forehead. If she wants any chance of surviving this and finding her burrow again, she needs to focus.

Wolf tried to drill some basic survival skills into her during their time on the surface, keyword _tried_. Kipo knows how to start a fire, identify some _very_ basic deadly and safe flora, and that was about the extent of it. She has a bunch of Wolf’s random surface lessons, but those aren’t really helpful and go against her personal beliefs, so she didn’t pay too close attention when Wolf was saying them.

It’s best now if she tries to make her way back to the burrow. Trying to go after her dad in this state when Scarlemagne is also traveling by air would be impossible, so she settles for next best thing: regrouping with Wolf, Benson, Dave, and Mandu, and assessing the damage done to her burrow. Hopefully it’s not that much.

(Though somewhere deep down, she knows that’s not that case.)

And hey, this is fine, right? She’s made it through the surface once before, whats one more time? To top it all off, she has experience now! She managed to survive a few minutes alone on the surface when all she had seen of it were wrinkly photos in textbooks. Now she has an inkling of knowledge, and her dad has always said knowledge is power.

_(But her dad is_ right there, _he’s so close, and she can practically brush him with her fingertips.)_

_(He’s far away, they’re taking him_ away _when she just got him back—)_

Kipoalmost loses her lunch.

Not that she’s had any lunch. Last time she ate was with Wolf and Benson and Dave and Mandu and they had been around a campfire Wolf made and Mandu had been in her lap and Kipo had a hand on her back and Benson and Dave bantered like brothers and Wolf stayed close to her side after returning to the group—

She digs her nails into her arm. She can’t afford to lose focus.

Speaking of her arm, it’s still a mangled mess of jaguar fur, sporting fluffy purple spots and jagged, sharp cuts. She can feel a tug on her shoulder, and she guesses the weight of lugging her arm around has finally caught up with her. She doesn’t... dislike it, actually. In fact, she thinks it’s pretty cool. It’s fascinating, and she’d love to see what else she can do with it besides pack a serious punch.

But at the same time, she remembers her sleeve, and thin fur on her arm, and Wolf’s wide-eyes, and she bites her lip. If she’s going to think of Wolf, Kipo would at least like it to be good things.

She’s been sitting for far too long. Bawling her jaguar arm into a fist, she relies on that alone to push herself up. Aside from a shit-ton of scrapes, cuts, and bruises, the fact that her ribs hurt when she breathes, and there’s two significant gashes in her cheek and forehead, it’s not that bad. Then again, she’s never been in _this_ _much_ pain before, but it’s a lot better than what she expected it to be, despite the overwhelming urge to curl into a ball and cry.

Glancing around, she searches for any landmarks she recognizes, any shapes resembling her burrow or Scarlemagne or _anything_ related to her.

She finds nothing. Just a bunch of trees. Greaaaaat.

While on the subject of trees, which there is an abundance of, she _also_ notices a shit ton of twigs. They probably come from her racket when she fell through them. Kipo feels oddly bonded with these trees. She’d fallen through most of them.

And maybe Kipo is going insane, maybe Kipo has always been insane, but when she hears one of said twigs snap, it isn’t a spike of fear that goes through her, but rather, one of annoyance. How dare someone break a part of _her_ trees?

But then she strains her ears, she hears footsteps, coming closer in her direction, and it strikes her that she’s utterly defenseless aside from her mouth and kinda useful kinda useless arm. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck—

Taking a steadying breath, Kipo clenches her hand into a fist, feeling the comforting weight of her shoulder falling out of its socket, and she turns around to face whoever dares to wreck her trees.

And it’s not who she expects. Not by a long shot.


	2. Andromeda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kipo annoys people into helping her, and Wolf wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *lmao ppl are getting scared by the major character death tag and i revel in that fear
> 
> *all your comments on last chapter were so nice and rly motivating VEHFNNTNG sorry i couldn’t reply. social anxiety do be a bitch tho 😳
> 
> *anyways it’s a lot easier to write when i know i’m not just doing it for myself and there’s people who genuinely want more, so here you go!!!!! take your meal
> 
> *lol i put this off bc i went back and read last chapter and it was actually good and i can’t replicate it HDJFNNFNGNGN
> 
> *season 2 rly took this fic’s plot and threw it out the window but it’s ok i didn’t have everything outlined anyways

Her head feels like lead when she picks herself off of the floor.

As soon as her eyes open, Wolf pushes herself onto her elbows, blearily blinking as rainbow colored spots dance around her vision. The land around her is dark, too dark to be daytime, so she can gauge how much time passed. She last remembers it being midday, brilliant blue hues and fluffy clouds, screams as Kipo fell through the air—

Wait.

She snaps wide awake, head turning so fast she’ll get whiplash at this rate. Her eyes dart around, catching glimpses of dull colored clothes and a surplus of different skin tones. Body sizes range from as petite as her to over double her size, and a couple feet away, she can make out short crew-cut hair and dark skin. Next to him is a figure she easily recognizes.

It’s Dave and Benson.

In her ear, there’s a sudden oink, and Wolf scrambles away, reaching for a staff that’s not there. Her shoulders relax slightly when she sees it’s just Mandu, gazing up at her with four concerned eyes. Wolf opens her arms, and Mandu leaps into her lap, just like she would do for Kipo.

_(Sure, she brought Kipo home safe, but she couldn’t_ keep _her safe at home.)_

_(She had been_ right _there, right next to her. )_

She shakes her head and lets frost seep it’s way into her heart once again.

Keeping one arm wound around Mandu, Wolf taps Benson with the other. “Benson. Benson, wake up.” She turns to Dave next, poking him. “Dave.” Using her thumb and pointer, she flicks her finger into Dave’s side. “Dave!”

“I’m up!” Dave shouts, jumping to a standing position. He’s in his regular form, though she supposes _all_ his forms are regular, but she considers his adult form the most regular of the regular.

Nothing about this situation is regular.

“What happened?” Wolf whispers, watching as Dave glances around.

“Where’d we go?” he asks, spinning around with his hands on his hips. “This doesn’t look like the burrow.”

Wolf resists the urge to facepalm. Of course it’s not the burrow. It’s too dark and stuffy and small of a space. Sure, the Burrow was a cramped area, and the lack of open land put her on edge, but it never felt stifling. Here, the air feels warm and the room feels too tight.

Wait, a room? This isn’t the burrow... but this isn’t the surface, either.

Where...

Where are they?

When Wolf surveys again, it hits her that the colors she’s seeing are other people’s shirts. A multitude of people are strewn across the floor, a few waking up and blinking groggily. There’s no sunlight; in fact, there’s hardly any light at all, but Wolf can see somewhat, and she finds the source to be a single light bulb in the ceiling. From what she can see, there’s no door, but they got in somehow so it’s safe to assume there _is_ one somewhere.

Stalky isn’t beside her, which isn’t surprising, but what _is_ surprising is Benson’s lack of hat and backpack. Whoever’s room this belongs to isn’t taking any chances.

They have no means of fighting besides their fists, but Wolf can make do. She hasn’t always had Stalky, after all. Depending on who’s captured them, her fighting skills may or may not matter. If there is a door, it’s heavily guarded, and so their chances of escaping are slim to none.

Especially since she can’t just _leave_. As much as she hates to (and will never) admit it, she can’t leave Benson, Dave, and Mandu behind. She tried that before, and they chased after her. Wolf is too tangled with them to even _think_ of untangling herself. Not to mention the rest of the people here.

Wolf isn’t one for helping, but with Kipo absent, _someone_ has to fill the role.

_(She could’ve done_ something _)_

_(Kipo losing her grip, taking one step too far back—)_

It’s actually not Dave or Mandu or even Benson who speaks up next.

“Wolf, right?” a voice calls from behind her, and Wolf turns around. It’s a bit too dark to make out features, but she can tell it’s a man by his voice. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. I’m not sure about everyone else, though. Are other people up?”

“Everyone seems to be waking up now,” the man says. Beside her, Wolf hears a soft patter on the ground, and then Dave is standing next to her.

“Where are we?” Dave asks loudly, no inclination to stay hushed. It becomes apparent that Dave doesn’t have an inside voice. “What happened? Do you know what happened? I don’t know what happened.”

“I know _exactly_ what happened,” a new voice snaps, and she can barely make out a figure leaning against a wall. “The surface... _people_ led Scar-whatnot directly to our burrow!”

Wolf raises an eyebrow, feeling a lick of annoyance curl in her gut. “Huh?”

“Hoag,” the man across from her says, a warning in his tone.

The person against the wall- Hoag, she presumes- scoffs. “It’s true! None of this wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t _let them in!”_

“Hey, this isn’t our fault,” Dave pipes up, and for once, Wolf finds herself agreeing with him.

“Yeah,” she adds, twisting her hands into fists. “We didn’t even know Scarlemagne was following us.”

Hoag’s voice grows shrill. “So you know him!”

Wolf’s eye twitches, and her patience meter spikes. Now is _really_ not the time to be having pointless arguments, and had Dave, Mandu, and Benson not been there, she would’ve been out of the room by now. “I know _of_ him. Everyone does.”

Hoag scoffs again, and he mumbles, “I don’t.”

The man across from her speaks up again. “Whatever the reason, nobody could’ve foreseen this happening. I don’t blame Kipo’s friends, and you shouldn’t either.”

“And why is that?” Hoag shouts, startling some of the burrow people awake. “Our burrow was fine until they showed up! Even if we escape, we have nowhere to go!”

“And that’s our fault how...?” Wolf asks, curling her legs closer and resting an arm on her knee.

Hoag sputters. “Because you come from the surface! You brought Scar-whatever to our burrow because you,” he points at Wolf, “couldn’t just stay up there, and you,” he points at the other man, “couldn’t follow protocol when the first burrow was compromised, and you couldn’t leave your daughter and ended up compromising the second burrow!”

His daughter...?

Looking back to mystery man, she can make out a faint beard and hair shaved down almost to the scalp. Come to think of it, his voice sounds familiar.

His daugh— oh. Oh, he’s Kipo’s dad!

He’s _Kipo’s_ dad.

“Nonetheless, that’s not any of their faults,” he says, and Wolf’s annoyance changes to sadness and then to an odd crushing feeling she can’t describe. It coils around her throat, and for a second, her eyes feel glassy. “They couldn’t possibly have known this would happen, and if they did, why would they be in here with us?”

Wolf clears her throat, stuffing her hands into her shirt to have something to do. She swallows down her pride and turns to the arguing man. “Look, Hoag, if that’s your name, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize this would happen. I should’ve, but I didn’t. But fighting with me isn’t going to change anything.”

Her stomach twists at the mention of what she should’ve done.

Guilt. That’s what she’s feeling.

Hoag tsks and turns away. Wolf doesn’t have time to roll her eyes because Kipo’s dad- Lio, she thinks his name is?- speaks.

“I’m sorry about him. I think everyone is just... shaken.” His eyes crinkle. “Thank you for bringing Kipo back. I don’t know what I would’ve done without her.”

“It’s no problem,” she forces out, even though the guilt threatens to cut off her airway.

Dave cuts in. “So, what do we do now?” He kicks Benson’s side, and he shoots awake.

“I’m up!” Benson exclaims, and he looks around wildly. “What’s going on?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Lio answers. He draws back, rising to stand. “I should help wake others up. We need to figure out what to do next.”

Wolf doesn’t respond, not that she can, and Lio turns to leave. Before he does, however, he says, “One last thing... did you see what happened to Kipo after I got captured?”

_(Kipo is midair, plummeting towards the ground, one moment there and one moment not.)_

Wolfexhales shakily, feeling regret claw up her throat and swallow her whole. How is she supposed to tell Kipo’s dad that she wasn’t fast enough to stop Kipo from jumping after him? How is she supposed to tell Kipo’s dad that Wolf stood there and _watched_ while Kipo... while she...

“...I wouldn’t have seen any more than you.” Wolf whispers, her voice hoarse. It’s not an answer, not quite. She doesn’t think she’d be able to answer if asked directly, but she wouldn’t be able to _lie_ , either.

Lio nods. “I see. I should probably look for her then, huh? Well, take care.”

And he walks off, leaving Wolf to wither in confusion. Look for her? How’s he going to look for her? She wouldn’t be with them, unless he saw her get recaptured, which would be great!

_(They can’t find her if she’s_ dead _.)_

That must be it. Kipo must’ve been caught mid-fall and recaptured. That means she’s okay, and she could even be somewhere in the room, or at least somewhere nearby.

(Though, there’s a smaller and louder part of her that screams that Lio didn’t see her fall in the first place.)

* * *

Kipo should be scared. She should be shaking in her shoes, knees wobbly and unstable. She should have trembling hands and rushed thoughts and quick breaths. She should be rooted to the ground, pure terror coursing through her veins.

But what she “should” do has never stopped Kipo before.

Instead, there’s a tidal wave that crashes into her, sweeping her away with a sudden stab in her chest. Like the ocean itself is filling her ribcage, Kipo blinks back as an enormous sense of _relief_ threatens to topple her over.

She presses a hand to her chest as her heart pulses on the brink of explosion. Waves of solace rock against her, and for the first time since her burrow was attacked, the air is clear in her lungs.

Kipo breathes in, tasting rich relief like its a flavor she can chew. The corners of her lips quirk up, and she quickly breaks out into a grin.

Through her smile, Kipo can manage one word, one relieved call.

“ _Jamack_!”

The mute in question looks just as shocked as she feels. His suit is still torn like the last time she saw him; his mustache is still odd, and his eyes widen at the sight of her. She’s not sure whether that’s due to the blood she can feel trickle down her forehead and seep into her clothes or because it’s _Kipo_ , so she feels a mix of offense and understanding at his reaction.

“Wha— why are you— are— wh—“

“Man, I’m _so_ glad to see you!” Kipo exclaims, because while Jamack was one of the _last_ people she expected to see, he’s something familiar, and that’s a good sign, right? Or maybe she’s going crazy from blood-loss. Wasn’t she claiming the trees around her as her own and getting annoyed at him for snapping a twig like two seconds ago?

“You are?” Jamack questions, and his tone is sarcastic, but there’s something else she can’t place, like a breathy hesitation.

“Why’d you step on a twig?” is what comes out of her mouth instead of reassurances. She tries to cross her arms, but her huge and _very_ heavy jaguar arm hinders her, so she ends up staring at it with her eyebrows furrowed.

“...What.” Jamack questions, though it sounds more like a bamboozled statement.

“These are my trees,” Kipo exclaims, waving her arms around but quickly stopping as her shoulder threatens to tear itself out of its socket. “I fell through them, so now we’re bonded. And you,” she points an accusatory finger at him, though it comes out wobbly, “broke a part of them.”

Jamack says nothing, stunned into silence. His hands have gone rigid by his sides, and he looks at her with utter bewilderment. He then deflates, slumping with his usual sass coming back into his voice. “Okay, you’ve either officially gone insane, or you’re dying of blood-loss, and honestly, those both seem like viable options.”

“You should apologize to the trees,” Kipo demands, stomping her foot on the ground. She hops onto her other foot, clutching the foot she just slammed into the ground. “Ow, ow, ow—“ she then topples over onto her back with a wheeze.

Jamack stares and blinks at her. Kipo rubs her hand against her ribcage as if that’ll bring the oxygen back into her lungs, and as she chokes, she presses her hand to her forehead. A sudden spike of pain sounds through her head, and then it’s in her chest, then her back, then her legs, before it settles in her shoulder.

When she peels her hand back, it’s splattered with red.

Her mouth moves open and closed like a fish as she gapes at the bright crimson stain. “T-that...”

Jamack sighs, eyeing her hand with nothing more than a hint of disgust. “Look, you’ll die if you stay here, Burrow Girl. Where’s the short intense one?”

And Kipo’s throat is suddenly dry.

_(Wolf screams behind her.)_

_(She messed up her people’s second chance, their second clover.)_

_(Her friends are at stake, she chides as she raises her arm.)_

“Uh-um...” Jamack stutters awkwardly, his hands hovering in the air like he’s not sure what to do, and Kipo feels tears sting the cuts on her face.

“I-I—“ She wipes at her eyes, not sure what she wants to say. She’s sorry? For which part? All of it? Actually, _yeah_ , she _is_ sorry for all of it. None of this would’ve happened if she had paid a little more attention. None of this would have happened if she had been a little bit stronger. None of this would’ve happened if she had been a little more rational, and none of this would’ve happened if she hadn’t jumped after her dad!

Then... then why can’t she bring herself to regret her decision?

At least she tried, right? Her dad was captured by Scarlemagne, who’s doing God knows what, but at least Kipo didn’t watch it happen. At least she didn’t stand by and do _nothing_.

_(Wolf had watched her go after him, called out her name with terror in her voice. Benson and Dave had been fighting alongside her friends, and Kipo has_ failed _them.)_

And now, she’s all alone.

And Kipo can’t help but feel like it’s a game of tug of war, one side saying at least she tried, she couldn’t have foreseen this, she did her best. The other side says she deserves this.

“I need to get back,” she says finally, her voice scratchy. The backs of her hands are wet with tears and blood. “I... I need to get back to my burrow.”

She has to fix this. If Kipo caused the problem, she’ll be damned if she isn’t the solution. There is no way in _hell_ she’s letting Scarlemagne take her people, much less hurt them.

~~(It’s her he should be after—)~~

“Uh... no,” Jamack says, and Kipo snaps her head up.

“What?” It’s not a question, more of a dare, and Jamack senses the challenge behind it because he winces.

“You’ll die if you take ten steps,” he replies, gesturing to her tear and blood stained form hunched on the ground. “At the very least, you need someone to go with you.”

She’s not sure what he’s implying, whether she needs to get her friends (who aren’t _here_ ) to help out, or if it’s an offer, him silently reaching out a hand for her to take, but only if she sees it. He’s throwing her an invisible line, and whether she takes it or not is up to her.

“So... you’ll help me?” Kipo asks, letting a bit of hope seep back into her voice.

Jamack sighs, drawing it out to make her aware of how exasperating this is and how it’ll take so much of his precious time and he says, “Fine. But only because I don’t want to hear people talking about a ‘dead Burrow Girl.’”

Kipo gives a fragile smile. “Aww, you _do_ care!”

Jamack stiffens. “No. No, I don’t. I’ll deliver you to your burrow and then be on my merry way, never to see your face again.”

_(“Look, I’ll help you get home. But once you’re back, I’m out.)_

“You sound like Wolf,” Kipo blurts out, and the second she says Wolf’s name, it takes every ounce of control not to burst into tears again. Her eyes wobble, and her lips quiver, and she clenches her normal hand into a fist.

“Oh God,” Jamack says, and it sounds a mixture of concerned and horrified. “Do... do you have to cry?”

Kipo sniffles, bringing the back of her hand to her nose and wiping. “N-no... you’re right.” She scrunches her nose and rubs her hand on her shirt, taking a deep breath in, which hurts her ribs.

“Why are you here, anyways?” Jamack asks, standing over her as she collects herself. “You were at your burrow, so why are you here now?”

_(Her heart pounds, not because she’s freefalling, not because the ground is only seconds away, but because she can hear her dad scream her name, and tears spring to her eyes.)_

_(She sets her footing, and when it gets close enough, she punches as hard as she can, surging strength into her jaguar arm.)_

_(The ground rushes up to meet her.)_

“Long story short, I fell,” she finally says, her throat dry. “I... I was trying to save my d-dad... because uh... Scarlemagne attacked my burrow.”

“And you fell?” Jamack questions, putting his hands on his hips.

“There were these flamingos...”

“Oh, those things?” Jamack looks up at the sky. “So you fell off one of them?”

Kipo nods. “I-I was just trying to save my dad,” she whispers, dropping her head to look at her hand in her lap. Crusty blood stains her skin, and her jaguar fur is mused and tangled with thick crimson patches.

Jamack doesn’t say anything for a long time, and neither does she, both of them contemplating something. She can’t help but feel guilty; she should’ve watched her feet, should’ve had better balance, should’ve paid more attention. She had a huge jaguar arm and couldn’t even hold onto the reins!

“If Scarlemagne attacked your burrow, they’re probably gone,” Jamack says plainly, with his head tilted back to the sky. What he means by ‘gone’ is unclear; somewhere deep down, she knows Scarlemagne most likely took her people. She knows they’re probably gone from her burrow. But she refuses to believe they’re _gone_ gone.

Wolf has the survival instincts of someone who’s lived on the surface her whole life; Kipo has no doubt she can keep herself, Benson, Dave, and Mandu alive, maybe even out of capture. Benson also has a load of surface experience, Dave is extremely resilient, and Mandu caught a literal flying axe in her mouth; Kipo’s pretty sure they’re fine.

It’s her burrow she’s worried about. It’s her people she’s worried about. The last thing she wants to find is the scraps of her home, the burrow torn to shreds _again_. The shambles will all be her fault, the ashes will all be her fault, anyone that lost their belongings or home or even their _life_ will be her fault. Not only is her blood on her hands, but theirs is too.

“I’m not giving up,” she replies, clenching her fist so her nails dig into her palm. She can’t stand to look at her burrow in pieces _again_. She can’t stomach the idea of her people buried under fallen shards of their own home. “I found them once.”

She glares up at Jamack through her bangs, leveling his gaze with a burning conviction behind her eyes. “I’ll find them again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *i love how the surface is like our world but mutated bc i can kinda bend what exists bc it’s technically our world. like,,,, wolf knows what a light bulb is bc electricity exists on the surface. even though that seems like something she shouldn’t know bc electricity doesn’t scream ‘post apocalyptic!!!!’ theoretically, it’s possible that mutes could get their hands on things like cell phones or even guns. imagine if the mutes has guns 😳😳😳
> 
> *i resurrected stalky from the dead 🤩🤩🤩 you’re welcome
> 
> *shut up i’m making her jaguar transformation painful bc it makes no sense to me how she can lug around one HUGE ARM while the rest of her body just,,,,,, stays it’s normal size
> 
> *sorry for waiting moNths i have like 5 other stories and temporarily lost motivation for this one 💀💀💀 when you have 9726256929463661724 fics you gotta give up some and this happened to be one of them

**Author's Note:**

> *oh damn i actually finished a chapter??????
> 
> *its 4 am hi how’s it going good morning
> 
> *follow my instagram @kiposguitar u cowards
> 
> *jk jk ur not a coward ur great GEJNFG
> 
> *is this rly that dark if in the og they were supposed to cut jamack’s tongue off
> 
> *my only motivation to finish this is i want to one day write a fic where this au crosses over with the canon au and they like meet their canon selves and canon meets this au and have it be kinda angsty but that also means i have to finish this and ugHSJJDNF


End file.
